My grandma was very crafty. She wore shoes and vests and hats that she had puff-painted and had scads of buttons on everything. One of the things that she seemed to find for me at the garage sales were vests. Lots of vests! I remember particularly the ones that looked as though they had been quilted together and had buttons and bows and such.
My dad told us that if we didn't appreciate the items Grandma gave us, then we had to tell her ourselves. So one particular visit to Lexington, I told her. "Grandma, I do not like vests."
She made me try on her newest find anyway.
"I won't wear this," I said. "I really do not like vests."
And then she made a prophecy that I cringed at.
"You've just got to find the right one," she said, taking the vest from my arms and draping it over the recliner in her bedroom.
I didn't believe her. I swore never to wear a vest again.
I think about that conversation with my grandma every time I put on the black vest I like so much. It is drape-y and forgiving, and kind of cool. And I got it for less than $5. I think Grandma would be proud - although, she probably would have haggled down the price to 50 cents. I thought about it again when this past weekend I found a sheer, crocheted top and flow-y, tiered looking vest that I just had to have. I think it is one of my favorite purchases in a while. Although, I paid more than Grandma would have ever paid for it.
Grandma was right though. It just took the right vest - and for vests to come back in style - before I went against my vow to never put one on again. Who knew that she was a prophetess?
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